If she
did, it would be absolutely impossible for her to trace the theft to
innocent baby Rose Merton. No; if Maggie missed her money and
suspected any one, she would be almost forced to lay the crime to the
door of the girl she no longer, in her heart, cared about-- Priscilla
Peel.
A very rich flood of crimson covered Rose's cheeks as this consequence
of her sin flashed before her vision. Less even than before was she
capable of seeing right from wrong. The opportunity was far too good
to lose; by one small act she would not only free herself, but
accomplish the object on which she had set her mean little heart: she
would effectually destroy the friendship of Maggie and Priscilla.
Stealthily, with her cheeks burning and her eyes bright with
agitation, she once more approached the bureau, took from under the
pile of papers the little sealskin purse, opened it, removed a
five-pound note, clasped the purse again and restored it to its
hiding-place, then flew on the wings of the wind from the room.
A moment or two later Priscilla came back, sat calmly down in one of
Maggie's comfortable chairs, and, taking up her Greek edition of
Euripides, began to read and translate with eagerness.
As Prissie read she made notes with a pencil in a small book which lay
in her lap.
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